


Let's Talk About That

by DarkHarmony



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But no one dies, But this is SPN, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e16 Dark Side of the Moon, Episode: s11e20 Don't Call Me Shurley, FIX THIS SPN WRITERS, Hurt/Comfort, I mean, I'mma be pissed., M/M, OR I WILL, Quote: No chick-flick moments. (Supernatural), Samulet, Samulet Fix-It, So..., Suicide trigger warning, also, cz if they dont bring up the Samulet in S15, poor babies, the boys gotta work on communication, they do, this is mostly just me correcting the canon crap, you did this to youself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHarmony/pseuds/DarkHarmony
Summary: Sam and Dean could have avoided like 80% of the things that hurt them if they only discussed it. So this is a post-series (no S15 spoilers, don't worry) snippet where they finally discuss the Samulet. (Cause that shit still hurts me, you know?)It was not every day one visited Heaven. Most people could barely do it once in a lifetime. Usually, it wasbeforethe trip upstairs that they lost everything. Well, Sam Winchester wasn’t most people.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Let's Talk About That

**Author's Note:**

> Not Betaed. All mistakes are mine, none of the characters are though.

_~Sam~_

It was not every day one visited Heaven. Most people could barely do it once in a lifetime. Usually, it was _before_ the trip upstairs that they lost everything. Well, Sam Winchester wasn’t most people.

He thought nothing would ever surpass the pain of losing Jess. Or the pain of losing Dean to Hellhounds. That was perhaps because he hadn’t truly _lost_ Dean. Dead or alive, his brother was still his brother and despite wanting to kill Sam- as made evident in the voicemail that haunted all his nightmares, but Sam could understand that, he wanted to kill himself too- at least he loved him. Now, he didn’t and Sam didn’t know what to do with that information. How do you deal with losing someone you love more than anyone you have ever loved before, and owe everything to, and would die for in the blink of an eye? How do you deal with the fact that there is no redemption- not for this- there never was? Demon blood had tainted his heaven and Dean was pissed about it. There is no redemption for something that wasn’t your mistake, just who you are. He wasn’t _guilty_ , he was _ashamed_.

Sam knew he couldn’t change it. He had no power here, for _here_ was the domain of Angels and what could an abomination with demon blood flowing through his veins do to the simple fact that Heaven rejected him in the worst way possible? It would let him in, but it would keep him away from the only memories worth anything. Where was his dad’s ‘Good Job, Kiddo?’ or Jess’s ‘I love you’ or Dean ruffling his hair? He’d not been denied entry, but he was only at the party to drink silently in the corner, alone and freakish. Sam wondered how Hell could be any worse.

Of course, he found out exactly how Hell could be worse the minute he stepped back on Earth. Castiel called the amulet worthless. It didn’t much phase Sam, what Cas thought of it didn’t matter. There was only ever one person whose thoughts on the amulet mattered. Dean took it back and held it, thinking. Sam waited for him to shake his head and put it on. Without doing that, Dean instead prowled to the waste basket. Sam’s heart thundered in his chest. Blood pounded through his ears. _It can’t be. It cannot be. He can’t cast it away. He can’t cast_ me _away._

Perhaps Dean said something, Sam was too laser-focused on the amulet dangling from his brother’s fingers to decipher it. _Dean can’t-_ he thought just as the amulet landed in the trashcan. He’d heard a gunshot this very morning. He didn’t think any noise would be louder or could hurt more. _This_ was louder, this was worse and this hurt far more than that ever could. The toll of a church bell indicating the end of an era. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

For a second, he disassociated. Sam was mathematical. Rational. He understood how things worked. This did not compute to him. It was the amulet that hit the ground, so how was Sam’s heart the thing that broke?

He blinked furiously as he came back to himself and looked around him. Nothing had changed- so how come nothing made sense anymore? He dragged himself to the mirror and looked himself over. Nothing was bleeding. There wasn’t a huge hole in his chest- and he wasn’t worried about the bullet that pierced him. There was no outward change. This again, failed to compute. Surely this much pain would have some outward indication. Surely this much pain left some scar, some mark.

He kept staring and then realized he wasn’t crying. There wasn’t a single tear. He touched his reflection as if that would explain it. That was when he went numb all over. That was the first thing that did make sense. It was so much pain that the body and mind plugged it up to survive. Passively, he wondered what it was he was living for, because there wasn’t a point anymore. The world had already ended and there was no saving it. Perchance he was alive so that his brother, finally unburdened from love, could get some catharsis by killing him. That computed too. He could live for _that._ Sluggishly, he walked over to the trashcan and picked the amulet up.

It used to be a symbol- that hadn’t changed. What served as a symbol of brotherhood would now symbolize failure. What had symbolized love would now be a reminder of hate. He had failed and Dean had finally given up. If he wasn’t so numb, he would scoff at the unfairness of it all. By those standards, he should have killed himself when he was 13. Well, regardless, he should have done it, everyone would be better off. Sighing, he thrust his hand into his pocket and left it there. When he got in the car next to dean, he said nothing. There was nothing to say.

***

_~Dean~_

They drove into another nameless motel of a nameless town, two nameless boys in a nameless car, thinking nameless thoughts. Yesterday, everything had been Technicolor, now it was faded- like the world was a ratty t-shirt, losing all color in a wash. The bright blue sky seemed dull gray, the yellow walls looked like the color of piss, the red carpet was threadbare, as was his soul, and his own emerald eyes looked empty.

He and Sam hadn’t spoken a single word since- well, since. There seemed something irregular about the way he held himself. He was favoring the left of his chest, as if something hurt there, but that could be residue from the shooting. Phantom pain. Sam didn’t seem aware of doing it. When he went to the reception, he asked for two rooms. If Sam wanted to be alone, he would get as much space as he wanted. Dean wasn’t going to force him to be with him- not any more than he already had.

Sam got his duffle out and stood at the door of Dean’s room, waiting for Dean to unlock it. Dean thrust the second key into his chest, opened his own door and slammed it before Sam could pick up the key that that had fallen down. Dean almost expected Sam to knock and ask for an explanation, or call him out on his jealous moping and comfort him. He put his ear at the door, waiting. A minute passed before he heard Sam pick the key up and his footsteps walked away.

He had known this was a possibility yet his heart hurt at the result. He was right. Sam did want more space to himself. Closing his eyes, he thumped his head against the door and slid down. He didn’t cry, but it was a close thing. Grief turned to anger and he thrust his fist into the wall, putting a dent in it. His knuckles came back bloody. The throbbing in his hand was still not painful enough to distract him for the hurt in his heart.

How do you mourn the loss of something that was never yours? He’d just been a stand-in all his life. Mom wasn’t there, so he became Sam’s mom. Sam didn’t have friends so he became Sam’s friend. Dad wasn’t there so he got the amulet. The thing he had conned himself into believing stood for love had been a symbol of his own twisted delusion. His brother had never _chosen_ him. He wasn’t the first choice- he was just… convenient. Sam didn’t love him, and that hurt but what hurt more was that he ever thought Sam had loved him in the first place.

Now that he thought about it, he realized it had always been a ridiculous notion. Sam? Love him? Where did he get off thinking he even deserved it? Why should those sunflower eyes ever glance at him? Why should those lips ever smile for him? Why should those strong arms ever hold him? Why should the broad chest ever be for him to rest his head on? Why should those strong, mile-long legs ever kneel before him? Why should those dexterous fingers ever hold a box in which a ring lay for him?

At the end of the day, what was he compared to Sam? A high-school dropout versus a Stanford scholarship student. An alcoholic versus an academic. A grunt versus a genius. What did he have to offer Sam- a leather jacket, an old car and a life of misery? He could have a home, a girl, anything he wanted- hell, he had before Dean came and ripped it all away. Dean had dragged him back into his world of monsters and in doing so become one. He knew Heaven wasn’t worse than Hell, but right now it didn’t feel much better.

There was a time Sam needed him and Dean had mistaken it for love. He opened a bottle and drank until he couldn’t feel anything.

~ _Sam~_

Sam sat back in his bead, taking in shuddering breaths. He wasn’t crying, sometimes he feared he couldn’t or the tears that would drop would be black. He felt the amulet in his pocket, tracing it over and over and over with his thumb. Hours passed.

He was brought out of his revere with hard pounding at the door. He pointed a gun at the door, withdrawing only when he saw it was Dean. He opened the door and let his drunk-off-his-ass brother in.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” he asked.

Dean looked even sadder than he had when he had stumbled in through the door. He continued looking at Sam sullenly before swaying. Immediately, Sam had his arms around him and guided him to the king in the middle of the room. When he sat down ~~was gently arranged into a sitting position by Sam~~ , he grabbed onto Sam’s arm.

“Ahkno’yadon’wan’me‘ereShammy, bu’don’go‘waee,” came his garbled words.

Sam was too tired to deal with Dean having to be drunk to have a conversation with him. _This is how much you hate me. Can’t even stand being in the same room as me when sober_. “Enunciate your words, Dean.”

“Ah knoooow yahh don’t waaant me heeeree,” said Dean, petulantly stretching his words out, a little southern drawl setting in the accent, “buut don’t go awaaaayy.”

Sam settled down next to him, removing Dean’s shoes and letting them fall on the ground. He didn’t encourage Dean being drunk, but if drunk Dean liked him he wasn’t going to say no. He shimmied up the bed and nudged him with his shoulder. “Not going anywhere,” promised Sam. Dean forlornly looked up to him and then slid down the bed, legs still folded at the knee, and looked at him expectantly. Shaking his head, Sam slid down next to him. Immediately, Dean crawled into Sam’s space and lay his head on Sam’s chest.

“Mishya.”

Sam wrapped his arms around him, letting his brother settle atop him as some peace settled in his skin and bones. He knew what Dean meant. “I miss you too.”

“‘Member when yuh were like 9 and yuh basically worshipped me?” Dean slurred his words but there was effort to minimize it. “I miss that.”

 _Remember this morning when you didn’t hate me as much?_ He didn’t say. “I miss it too.”

“Where did I go wrong?” he sighed. Sam took that as regret and shame rather than the self-deprecation it was.

That hurt so much, Sam didn’t reply. This is why he hated when Dean got drunk. Drunk Dean had no filter. _I don’t know,_ he didn’t say. _I’m so sorry_ , he didn’t say either. He just tightened his hold and let sleep drag them under.

Come morning, they didn’t talk about it- or anything else. There was nothing to talk about.

=6 Years Later=

_~Dean~_

Sam was dying. There was fog and there was death and Sam was dying, dying, _dying_.

Then he wasn’t and his pocket was glowing and he had the amulet- a little voice in his head corrected it to the term those girls who had done a play on them called it, _Samulet_ \- in his hand after thinking he had lost it forever and it was too much and then there was God, who was Chuck, and he was finally here against Amara and what the fuck was happening, could this day get weirder, and, and, and-

His mind was going a mile a minute, so he shut it down, letting instinct take over. He ignored how Sam looked, seeing the Samulet here again. He put that away for later. After all this mess was over, he’d talk to Sam about it.

He never did. What would he even say? He didn’t give the amulet back either. He didn’t want to and Sam didn’t ask for it. Once, it felt as if he might, but then he walked away. Dean locked himself in his room and put it on every now and again and the familiar weight made it easier to breathe. Still, he carefully put it away in a drawer.

He tried to say something to Sam when he passed him in the kitchen, then he couldn’t. He didn’t want to talk about it.

=4 years later=

_~Sam~_

It had been 10 years since Dean had thrown the _Samulet_ away. Four since he had taken it from Sam and never spoken about it. Sam wanted to know what Dean did with it, but never had the courage to ask. For a week after the day Dean had taken the amulet, Sam didn’t check any trash cans. He didn’t think he could bear to see like that again. Sometimes, he’d catch Dean absentmindedly rubbing his knuckles on his chest, where the amulet used to lay.

It amused him that after everything, he still didn’t have the courage to ask his brother what happened to the horned figure on the black thread. Maybe, he thought, he should just get some closure. Maybe it meant less than nothing to Dean, but he needed to know. Sure, it would hurt, but at least there was some cessation. With a deep breath and his mind made up, he knocked on his brother’s door.

He heard some shuffling inside, a loud thump and Dean cursing. He opened the door and walked in to see his brother getting up from the floor looking at him all deer-in-the-headlights. Sam was about to laugh but the second his eyes landed on Dean’s chest, the laughter died. Dean was still frozen where he stood but he looked down at what Sam was seeing. The amulet resting on his chest.

“Sammy, I can explain,” he said, taking a step forward. Sam, however, looked too shocked to do anything but stare. “I- I know you maybe don’t want me to wear it, and I get it, I do. But I thought, you know, I mean, technically it’s mine. But I mean-”

Sam didn’t wait for Dean’s rambling to reach its conclusion. He knew from experience that there was no conclusion to Dean’s ramblings anyway. He would beat around the bush and pull barely coherent statements out of his ~~admittedly cute~~ ass. He surged forward and grabbed Dean’s arms, clutching him tightly. Dean shut his mouth. “You kept it? For four years?!” he whispered, hope warily flaring in his chest.

“So did you! For six!!” Dean replied, instinctively on the defensive.

“Yeah, but to me, it’s not a means to find Chuck,” said Sam, putting his hands down, but not moving too far out of his brother’s personal space. “And, and you don’t need… a- a symbol to remind you how you feel-”

“I don’t!” Dean interrupted. “It’s- it’s mine. I never should have thrown it. I hated myself for that the second you jumped. I hated myself, Sam. I just- I know I did so much… I don’t deserve to wear it. After throwing it? I know, okay. But please,” he looked away, his voice turning into a barely-there whisper, “let me have it. I need it.”

Sam said nothing because he couldn’t contemplate how Dean still wasn’t getting it.

Sam didn’t move. Dean looked up. “It’s mine,” he tried one more time, but when Sam shook his head to begin the explanation on his side- how he was shell shocked because he just came for closure- he nodded and removed the necklace, holding it out for Sam to take it.

“NO! Dean. NO. I- NO! Why are you like this?” Sam asked, exasperation warring with giddiness. He took the amulet and pulled Dean into his arms, who came relatively pliantly. “I never wanted you to take this off in the first place. I just- you were right, in that it is yours.” Dean looked up to him and Sam smiled, dimples showing. He put the necklace around his brother’s neck and Dean let out a breath that neither of them realized they were holding.

“Why are you so kind?” Dean asked in an uncharacteristically tender voice.

“What?” asked Sam, not sure he heard correctly.

“After what I did- it was cruel, Sam. No, don’t shake your head- it was meant to be,” he said, before Sam could defend Dean to Dean. “I just- how didn’t you hate me? And how can you be here, giving it back to me of your own free will after what I did?”

“It’s not love if it’s conditional,” Sam sighed. “Besides, I get why you did what you did. Heaven rejected me, and I was-”

“What do you mean, Heaven rejected you?” Dean interrupted. “You were there, celebrating thanksgiving and being at Stanford.”

“That- that wasn’t Heaven.” Sam looked down. “Color me surprised, demon blooded boy has a Heaven where the people he loves the most will never come to him. There’s no Mom or Dad or Jess. And I’d have been fine with that too because them I have lived without and continue to do so, but- not you. It took me going to Hell to realize I’d rather have Hell, because hallucination or not, at least you're there.”

“Sam-” Dean dazedly said. “All these years you let me believe- I- Sammy!”

“Let you believe what? That I betrayed you?” Sam smiled softer, sadder. “I did. You needed me and I left for college. I drank demon blood, slept with Ruby, was Lucifer’s vessel… of all that, I am guilty. I did betray you.” Nevermind what his intentions were- road to hell and all that jazz.

Dean couldn’t stop himself for adding, “I don’t know why you didn’t look for me. When I was in purgatory, I mean. Doesn’t make sense. If you needed me, hell, wanted me-”

“I didn’t look for you in _purgatory_ ,” Sam finally confessed. “You assumed I didn’t look for you at all which kinda thrust me deeper into depression, I guess. I didn’t have any willpower left to fight you- I’d just gotten you back.”

“You were depressed?” Dean unwittingly asked.

“Jess,” responded Sam. “She made me go to a psychiatrist. We were just friends back then. But she was worried, I guess. So I did. He told me I have clinical depression and well,” he cleared his throat, “I mean, I kinda knew, but then he told me I have suicidal tendencies- which, I mean he was right. When you were- away- both times- I just. I fell deeper, reached rock bottom and then drilled further down, you know? You drown in alcohol, I tend to self-destruct…”

Dean nodded. “We need to talk about that. We need to get you some professional help, hell, me too.” When it looked like Sam was about to say something, Dean continued, “But that comes later.” He took a deep breath. “As far as we’re confessing, I got stuff to say too.”

“Lay it on me,” Sam smiled, sitting down on the bed. Dean rested his butt and a quarter leg on the table, turning towards Sam.

“You gotta promise me something first,” he said. “You’ll never, ever mention this again. I need to get it out there and then that’s it. If you trust me, Sammy. If you have ever loved me, ever respected me, you’ll never once mention this again. You'll never even talk about it.” Sam nodded. Dean nodded back. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for- Hell, I don’t think I remember when I wasn’t.”

Sam looked at him and then at the ground, processing. He looked back up and stayed calm and silent.

Dean, as he always would when it came to Sam, panicked. “I swear I would never act on it. I mean-” He was interrupted with a pair of lips crashing into his. It was fierce and sloppy and the best thing he’d ever felt. “Sam, what?!” Instead of pausing, Sam took that as an opportunity to lick into his mouth. A minute later, completely out of breath, he realized Sam had said nothing. He looked at him with mild exasperation, just as Sam looked back with amusement and barely veiled awe. “That’s not- you can talk, smartass.”

Sam smiled wider. The first words out of his mouth were also the only ones that ever mattered. “I love you too.”

And yeah, Dean could live with talking about that.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed it!! Also, get some sleep and stay hydrated!! <3


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